


Reflections

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Angst, Director Stark, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Marvel Multiverse, Selfcest, Ults Day, double Tony feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: “I am you,” Tony just said.“You’re certainly pretty enough for it,” the other him said. He made a show of looking around. “Is Captain America here, as well?”





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cap-IM Ults day, for the following kink meme [prompt](https://cap-ironman.dreamwidth.org/1809169.html?thread=13728785#cmt13728785): _Ults!Tony/616!Tony hook-up._ Mysterious Anon, it was an awesome prompt and I hope you like the fic.
> 
> Note on the warnings: this is a meeting between Director Stark and post-Cataclysm Ultimate Tony, i.e. two Tonys whose Steves are canonically dead. They deal with it. Badly.
> 
> (The issue with writing any Tonycest these days is that, of course, Ultimate End did it perfectly and canonically, so I tried to take it in a bit of a different direction.)
> 
> There's now a [REALLY GREAT REALLY SAD ART](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/post/172035631969) by [Erica](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/)!

“Freeze,” Tony said, aiming his repulsors at the other Iron Man armour. 

Moments earlier, there’d been an explosion of light right as he’d been about to leave the Helicarrier landing pad, and then, when Tony could see again, another armour was next to him. Teleportation or magic—or magical teleportation—Tony wasn’t sure. The armour was obviously inspired by Iron Man, but it wasn’t any of Tony’s models, thankfully. The last thing he needed was someone stealing his tech again.

Whatever it was, it was _advanced_. Tony couldn’t hack the systems with Extremis. 

“Director Stark!” an agent was running towards them, and Tony swore inwardly. Did they have _zero_ self-preservation?

But something weird happened then. The armour tilted its head, as if there was a man inside, an amused man—and then reached for its helmet.

And then Tony watched someone looking like his doppelgänger, in an armour that both was and wasn’t Iron Man, take the helmet off.

“Either I’m making a horrible mistake and you’re Greg, or it’s a great choice,” he muttered, and then said, louder, “I’m _very_ friendly, Director Stark, you can stop aiming your repulsors at me.”

Tony frowned. There _were_ other options—it didn’t have to be a friendly Tony Stark from an alternate universe, it could be any number of shapeshifters—if not for the armour he was in. Tony could imagine himself designing it, if his ideas run just a bit more . . . eccentric. 

And anyway, they were on the main helicarrier. No safer place than right here, theoretically.

Tony lowered his hands. The other man didn’t take this as an invitation to attack him.

Decision made, Tony nodded. He sent his helmet on the way to the lab. The other man’s eyes followed it for a moment.

“Stand down, agents,” Tony said. “Situation under control. Multi-universe shift, by the looks of it. We’ll be in my lab.”

He _knew_ they wanted to question it. He _knew_ it and waited for it—but no one did.

“Yes, sir,” they answered instead. 

_They will have to learn to love me. You did_.

Tony willed himself _not to think_. They followed the chain of command. He’d never inspire more. He didn’t really _want_ to inspire more. He wanted things to go back to what they used to be, he wanted _Steve_ to be back.

“So, _Director Stark_ ,” the other Tony drawled. “You are me. For a moment I was worried you’d be our charming twin. SHIELD always seemed more his thing.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a twin.”

If the other him had something to say to that, he didn’t show it. 

“Tony, right?” Tony made sure after a moment. 

“Short for Antonio.” It was clearly meant as a confirmation, but Tony’s step faltered.

“ _Anthony_ ,” he corrected. 

His counterpart winced. “Now that sounds horrible.”

Somehow they both went by Tony and not their full names, though. Tony led them to an elevator and activated it with Extremis. Then, he reached out towards the other man again. Without the helmet, the armour didn’t seal him off anymore, and . . . Tony’s eyes widened. He could _feel_ his other self, something in his _blood_. 

“We’re not that close yet,” the other Tony said with a crooked smile. “Leave my nanogens alone.”

 _Nanogens_. Another iteration of Extremis? Something else? The elevator chimed at this moment, and Tony stopped trying to poke at the weird tech. Instead, he stepped out, pointed at his lab door and grinned. “Get it open,” he said. The lock was supposed to open to his biometrics. It would serve as the best test if the other Tony was _really_ another him.

“Greg taught me not to trust biometric locks,” the other Tony said, “but as you wish.”

He opened his eyes wide for the retina scanner and pressed his palm against the fingerprints reader, and, moments later, the door opened with a low hiss.

They went inside, and Tony made sure to lock the door. He didn’t need agents interrupting them if they were going to experiment with portals.

“Take off the armour,” he said, ordering his own suit to disassemble.

“That’s forward,” his counterpart drawled. He proceeded to take his armour off more slowly, pressing at some hidden release buttons, letting the pieces of the suit fall to the ground. Finally he straightened.

“I like the uniform,” he said, giving Tony a very obvious once-over that Tony returned appreciatively. 

Tony raised his eyebrows. “This is what you focus on? Not the armour?”

“I can focus on many things, darling,” his counterpart replied without missing a blink. He was wearing a dress shirt and black slacks under his armour, as if he’d been called away from work of the non-superhero variety. Seeing that Tony was looking, his other version smiled: full of charm, Tony knew, but then he was just a bit too similar to himself.

The mirror effect wasn’t quite complete, though: Tony didn’t want to punch this other him in the teeth.

“Any idea how you got here?” Tony asked.

A smile, and his counterpart shook his head easily; Tony really hoped _he_ could lie better than that.

“I am you,” he just said.

“You’re certainly pretty enough for it,” the other him said. He made a show of looking around. “Is Captain America here, as well?”

Tony froze.

“We have one,” he said, very, very slowly. The immediate, naked relief on the other Tony’s face made him sick, and he hurried to explain, all the painful, burning words he never wanted to say. “Not Steve. Steve . . . It’s not Steve.”

He couldn’t say it. _He killed Steve_. And he couldn’t tell his counterpart that, he couldn’t see the hatred in his eyes, too.

He saw it, the split second before the other Tony schooled his face again; the hurt and loss and disappointment and heartbreak.

Yeah, they were one person all right. Tony didn’t like mirrors.

Later, he would tell himself it wasn’t loneliness making him act, or at least, not his own: there was something about his double’s eyes that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Kissing himself was strange. They both tried to turn their heads the same way at first, and their noses clashed.

“Tsk, darling,” the other Tony said. “We should be better at this.”

He leant in again then, fitting his frame against Tony’s, and that was strange, too: they were the same height, but the other Tony was thin under Tony’s hands, his skin pale in contrast to Tony’s own tanned hands, as if he were sick. 

Their lips met, finally. Tony’s double wasn’t shy at all. He immediately licked into Tony’s mouth, biting gently on his lower lip as his hands roamed over Tony’s body, one hand sliding under his shirt, the other into his pants. 

Tony arched into him, and after a moment, they found a rhythm.

They were both, after all, _very_ talented.

Sex was a good distraction: for all his dreams and fantasies, it was the one sphere of life Tony hadn’t shared with Steve. There were no memories threatening to overcome him, here; not like every time when someone would come to the lab with a cup of coffee for Tony and he expected to look up and see Steve smiling at him.

(Steve hadn’t smiled; the last time they faced each other.)

A strangled sob escaped him, and his counterpart stilled. 

“This is supposed to be fun,” he said, the fake light tone Tony knew so well from hearing himself speak.

“It is,” he answered, angry at himself, angry at his counterpart for stopping. “Don’t—”

“Is it because I asked about Steve?” the other Tony asks, his voice quiet and his hand still wrapped around Tony’s cock.

“Why,” Tony grits out, “are you thinking about him and projecting?”

“I’m always thinking about him,” the other Tony scoffs, and there’s something to how _easily_ the admission seems to come to him, his masks so similar to Tony’s and yet so different. “But I don’t think I’m projecting anything.”

This was _not_ working as a distraction.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” he said, which was and wasn’t a lie, and he leant in to kiss his other self again, because it was a way to shut him up and because they were half-naked and Tony wanted _more_ and wanted this moment where he _wouldn’t_ think. Just for a few seconds.

There was something terribly _kind_ in the other Tony’s eyes as he kissed him back.

“You’re a mess,” the other Tony said later, and Tony was rather sure he was not referring to the state of his uniform and the fact that yes, they both needed a shower. “I knew—they called you Director, and I can’t imagine _any_ version of us doing that willingly. But it’s worse than that.”

“Are you doing this to avoid thinking about your Steve?” Tony asked, and it was a cheap shot, but he couldn’t stand to be psycho-analysed by another himself.

“I told you, I always think about him,” the other Tony replied. He closed his trousers, but he still looked thoroughly debauched. “I’m too sober to _talk_ about him, though. A drink, darling?”

Tony flinched.

His counterpart stopped mid-step to his armour. Tony did not think of the times when he always used to have a flask of alcohol on him.

“ _How_?” he asked, quietly.

“What else do I have left?” Tony asked back. “But he’s dead, and I _didn’t_ drink, so now nothing—not even you—”

“He’s dead,” his counterpart said, “and I drank even at his funeral, there’s nothing else—”

“Stop,” Tony said quietly.

“ _How_?” the other him repeated. “Do you know, his funeral ended up being a week before our scheduled wedding date?”

Tony did not hear that right. Tony could not have heard that right. There were limits to what could befall on him, right, even as an Avenger; meeting an alternate him was one thing, hearing about his Steve was another, but this—this—

Tony wanted a drink, and he hated himself for how he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the armour.

“Right,” his counterpart said. “With all of that, I might still _not_ forgive myself if I let you do that.”

There was not _letting_ him. 

But Tony wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not like that.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “You—”

“Just as fine as you, darling,” his other self drawled. “Come on. This was nice and all, but get me . . . home.”

 _Home_.

Neither of them had it anymore.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Out of the Woods (The Man in the Mirror Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638336) by [msermesth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth)




End file.
